


Happiness

by Aerosol



Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anger, Hurt, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerosol/pseuds/Aerosol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Stop!<br/>Just one quick thing ! :</p><p> </p><p> I have already seen/played Virgil's Downfall and am well aware of what happened there with him. However I designed a slightly modified version based solely on Virgil's feelings and thoughts to the dramatic end of Dmc 5. </p><p>Just to leave any confusion out. Now have fun with reading ^^</p>
    </blockquote>





	Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Stop!  
> Just one quick thing ! :
> 
>  
> 
> I have already seen/played Virgil's Downfall and am well aware of what happened there with him. However I designed a slightly modified version based solely on Virgil's feelings and thoughts to the dramatic end of Dmc 5. 
> 
> Just to leave any confusion out. Now have fun with reading ^^

* * *

 

 

Vergil felt clearly how the edges of this crater began to grow painfully, the more he saw the face of Dante’s spirit in front of his mind’s eye.  
  
But he could not help himself, was obsessed, hopelessly and irrevocably lost. It appeared constantly in his mind, his memories flooded over.  
Dante, as he grinned at him cheekily.  
Dante, as he swore, looked at him angrily.  
Dante, as he showed an offended pout, because Vergil had countered him again with an unerring remark.  
Dante, who laid his head on his chest, eyes closed, snoring gently.  
Vergil's fingers slid hesitantly by brown hair that were painted with white streaks.  
Dante's laughter ... the honest, sonorous laugh. His voice, his body, his eyes.  
  
Dante.  
  
Vergil put his hand on his tortured chest to stem the blood flow.  
With the coat sleeve of his other hand he wiped the blood from his chin, looked at the red trace on the fabric with a mixture of dismay and resignation.  
  
Lie.  
  
It had all been a lie.  
  
He had betrayed him. Redeemed his life to Kat’s. She was just a human!  A fickle, weak, fragile human being!  
Vergil's jaw began to ache as hard as he gritted his teeth.  
  
 **He** was the one to blame!  
 **He** had seen something in Dante that never existed.  
Someone who knew how to understand him and his view about the people. Not only accept, but also to match it.  
  
He should have just simply stuck to the plan, not allowing himself to be carried away, to ascribe Dante more valuable than a simple weapon against Mundus' minions. Then everything would certainly have expired completely different.  
  
If he thought about it, this tragedy had already begun when he neglected to gain control over the actions of his brother.  
Moreover, he had actually resigned to the time when he realized the fact that Dante was not to restrain.  
And he had started to love this fierceness of him, as he had learned a lot else to know about him and to love.   
   
Feelings started to surface, took root, wore delicate buds and sprouting calyxes – Oh, the biggest mistake.  
  
Vergil had admitted feelings, had emulated in this aspect exactly like the creatures, which he regarded as stubborn and childish because of this weakness - Humans.

He had allowed himself to be human.  
  
How silly. An unforgivable mistake. And all because of _Dante_!  
  
Vergil stroked a few streaks of hair from his forehead. Only because of him, he was sitting here, breathing his life out like a slashed pig.  
  
Although, had it really been so wrong to allow emotions?  
Joy, sadness, anger? Happiness?  
  
Eva and Sparda had done the same, despite their races were enemies for eons of years. They had truly loved each other, from that love arose Dante and he.  
When he looked at this objectively, it was only logical that this genetic material and this love of their parents had flowed into the twins, too.  
Vergil touched his amulet. It flashed between his fingertips.  
  
From birth on they had been destined to be together. Inseparable, two parts of a whole, which were incomplete without the other.  
Or was that just a lie, too?  
  
Was it perhaps a lie that he had taught himself to find an irrevocable sense in relation to each other?   
Had he actually hide himself from reality?  
How could he have fooled himself all this time !?  
Or was Dante the fool, because he did not recognize what was so reluctant to them?  
  
It was a mystery to Vergil.  And it should stay a mistery to him for very long.  
  
With a groan, he rose slowly, leaning at the wall and breathing in sharply.  
He could not stay here, it was too dangerous.  
Despite all the willpower he could muster, he could not help but to displace his fatigue completely, but they hung him like molten lead in the limbs, solidified with each rattling breath he did.  
  
Every step he performed using his sword as help, drew another added sting in his chest. Every muscle, he was forced to move, burned in his body, cried piteously, commanded him to stop. But Vergil did not listen. He had become quite deaf for now.  
  
He went on, no matter what pain connected to his movements. He had to go, could not stand still.  
He had to find a refuge that offered him at least some protection from the demons. If he stayed any longer in this solitude, he’ d need to sign his death warrant soon.  
  
Without any orientation Vergil simply suggested a direction that seemed plausible. In hell there was neither sun nor moon, according to other celestial bodies, of which he would have been always able to lead. Resistant here was the frame of bloody red, as the rash took over the barren landscape.  
Vergil did not know how many hours he spent in this tireless trot.  
A journey without a destination, a route without end, so it seemed.  
  
He had almost given up hope when he suddenly found a spot in the distance that brightly lit up in peculiar blue. He blinked in surprise, his thoughts tinged with danger and deception. Nevertheless, he stumbled to meet the gate, wanted to look at it more closely. It seemed curiously familiar.  
When he was finally so close that he could touch the bars with his fingertips, he knew why he that gate was so well known to him.  
  
 _Paradise_ was written in worn, rusty metal letters above his head.  
  
 _Paradise_. Dante and his former home.  
  
Vergil was suspicious.  
What should this be?  
A mirage, an illusion? A trap?  
... Or was it just coincidence?  
  
Vergil did not believe in coincidences.  
Actually he believed in nothing anymore.  
  
Despite all the concerns germinating in him, he did not return a step, when the doors opened invitingly as if they were pushed by magic. As if they had just waited for him to let him.  
Vergil knew that this probably was the only place where he could rest in safety. Where the demons roamed anxiously for a while before they dared himself to venture into the interior.  
It was his only chance to completely recover, to survive in this gloomy world.  
  
Vergil realized that he really had no choice. Even if there should be a trap - he would just have to trigger in.  
  
The house was, as he had from Limbo ago still remembered.  
As in the human world, the furniture was mostly stacked pile of rubble, everywhere burns and wall cracks were seen.   
   
 The nephilim went through the entrance hall, climbed the stairs. Phantoms of a bygone era circulated here and he believed them to spy at him behind every corner.  
Everything was still a game inside this torn house.  
Even the fights Dante and he had played in their youth here, had been pure fun. Using wooden swords as weapons, there had been no space for a battle of life and death. Only the innocent joy of mutual showdown.  
These times appeared so terribly far away to Vergil, like they had only been a beautiful, peaceful dream. Once they were a family. In this house, at that time.  
  
Vergil went into the living room where they had previously always sat by the fire. He gently touched the charred door frame before he entered. His eyes shone cloudy.  
  
When did everything happen to be so terribly wrong?  
Where had the error located?  
  
Mundus.  
  
But Mundus was dead.  
The danger was over, the world freed of its tyrannical king. Mundus was chased by the true devils of underworld.  
  
And yet. Now Vergil was here.  
  
Alone.  
  
He looked around.  
His eyes fell on the portrait of Sparda. He had often looked at the picture when he was younger, admiring the colors, the shapes, the lines. He approached so near that he could read the writing under the picture without difficulty.  
“Dante betrayed me, father.¨ he whispered, as if there had been a forgotten soul who could hear him. “What should I do? ¨  
  
The missing face of Sparda put him into melancholy.  
  
He thought of his brother.  
  
If he closed his eyes, he could have sworn almost to feel his impulsive aura still in the walls of this decayed building, hear his voice, as it desperately screamed out his name. Of course, only a Ilusion, presumably tied in his mind out of pure nostalgia.  
Yes. He missed him.  
  
Even if the wound in his chest still left some traces of Rebellion’s sword edge, he missed him. Even if this was completely irrational and stupid.  
Although Vergil therefore despised himself, cursed, hated.  
  
His weakness. Dante had given him a weakness. A feeling, a longing.  
He struggled firmly to name it.  
  
Was that why he really hated his brother?  
Could he kill him without batting an eyelash?  
  
Probably.  
  
But what would it have brought him?  
Vergil thought, listening to himself.  
What did he really want?  
  
Did he want to inflict pain on Dante?  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Did he want to let him suffer?  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Did he want to see him bleed?  
 _  
_ _Hell, YES!_  
  
Did he wanted to kill him? Did he _really_ want him **dead**?  
  
…

 

 

 

 

 

….. _No_  
  
But above all, what did he want above all?  
  
 _Dante._  
  
He wanted Dante.  
His body, his eyes, his soul, his voice, his love - everything.  
No more and no less.  
  
Vergil tried to focus his thoughts. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, the blood had finally stopped flowing.  
Then he made a decision.  
  
Dante should cost of his own bitter fruit.  
Let him make the frustrating experience of what it meant to let people off and be treated like trash.   
Let him watch as the world sank into war and blood.  
Should Kat break his heart when she could no longer bear to only serve as a cheap substitute to forget his twin.  
Should recognize what it was like not to be able to protect what one loved most.  
Let him know what it was like to be completely helpless!  
  
Vergil, he would watch over all this as the silent observer, hidden in darkness.  
  
Then, when Dante laid on the ground, defeated, he would come to him and pick up the pieces. He would put everything in order, as soon as his brother realized what a great mistake he had committed at that time, to decide against the last member of his own family.  
  
Should this happen, then he would finally open his eyes.  
He would dissolve the illusions that clouded his senses. Point out the right path, as he had done before. How he had to do it all over again.  
Even if he had to prepare for torment. Pain, bloody wailing. Punishments.  
It would be only for his own good.  
To both their best.  
  
Vergil clenched his fists.  
  
And then he would belong to him. Him alone.  
He would have him, even if Dante did not want this. Even if he cursed and cried. Eventually, the tears would dry, and the voice fail.  
He would have no more reason to complain, no longer feel the need to rebel - Vergil would see to that.  
  
He would take care of everything.  
  
But to put actions in successful order, he had to gather his forces again first. He needed more power, much more to confront Dante's demon form victoriously.  
  
He had become stronger, much stronger.  
  
Maybe even stronger than Sparda.  
  
One last time, he let his hand wander over the torn painting of the demon, yearning, almost questioningly.  
“Dante belongs to me and I belong to him. And if he does not want to see this, I must make it clear to him with violence. Even if it kills him. Am I right, father? ¨  
  
The painting was silent.  
  
Vergil smiled sadly. Then he turned and walked out of the room.  
  
With a sigh, he let his broken body sink on the double bed, where Dante and he had once slept as children.  
 The sweet smell of burning wood wafted him weakly around the nose.  
A stale whiff of blood mingled among, but Virgil was too exhausted to realize that it was not his own.  
  
Even when he heard the sound of shattering glass and a barely audible, dry sob from distance, he did not respond.  
  
It probably originated from some poor soul which was condemned to wander through the area and to eke out its existence forever in hell.  
Nothing that would have addressed him personally something.  
  
Nothing that could have been even slightly important to him.  
  
His eyes stared a while, musing on the blackened ceiling, then his lids shut millimeter by millimeter.  
  
Sleep.  
He had to sleep.  
  
Sleep to experience a new morning.  
A morning of planning, training ... and revenge.  
  
For his brother whom he loved and hated at the same time.  
The one he wished to hold and to cut his head down in the next moment.  
For the only person he was not possible to feel nothing for. To stay logical. Factual.  
  
Only for him.  
  
And above all, for his own happiness.


End file.
